Mullis: One of the fortunate sickees

At the end of the holidays, right when the bitter cold set in and wouldn’t let go, sickness came to our house. It moved through members of the family, taking them out in a predictable order – husband and children first.

I took people to the doctor, picked medicine up at the pharmacy, and restocked chicken soup at the supermarket. One year ended, another began and still it was blankets and liquids and tissues. There was always a victim on the couch, snoozing fitfully to the drone of another movie. The fireplace and the washing machine ran constantly.

While sitting in one waiting room, I watched the Weather Channel on TV. The reporters were in a tizzy about the bomb cyclone brewing over the Atlantic, promising more cold and snow. They took a break to show the national flu report, red marking “rampant spread." The entire lower 48 was red from sea to chilly sea.

I smirked. One nation under the weather.

Eventually, as school resumed, the sickness got me. Our doctor had called it while we waited for my daughter’s Strep culture results.

“I’ll be seeing you in a couple of days.”

She was right. That night I couldn’t sleep. I could feel it in my throat, a heaviness that expanded outward until it squeezed my eyes and brain. I gave up on sleep around four in the morning and went to the picked-over medicine cabinet in the kitchen.

All the animals scampered to my side, wanting to be let out, wanting to eat. I opened the door for the dog. The frosty air prompted a coughing fit. I closed the door. Two seconds later, the dog was whining to be let in. This time, I wrapped a scarf around my face.

I saw my phone, still bearing the AccuWeather’s exclamation point in the notification center. That thing has been there for weeks, the advisory always the same – dangerous wind chill levels.

I fed the animals and took some cold medicine, but couldn’t sleep. There were still Christmas lights lining the mantle, so I plugged them in. I started thinking, but not in the lines my sick thoughts usually take.

Normally, when struck with post-holiday, whole-family, apocalyptic flu, I would think about who brought this nastiness to us. Who sneezed in the cheese dip? Who coughed over the turkey and dressing? Who came with the sniffles to ring in the New Year? I would think about my children and wonder which one forgot to wash their hands or used a dish towel for a tissue or shared a Slurpee with a sickee.

Bearing pain often means slinging blame, but not this time. This time, I thought about how lucky I was.

This deep freeze makes every day a chance to remember I have a roof over my head and heat coming out of my vents. I can turn on a gas insert in the fireplace and have extra heat. I have food in my pantry and produce in my refrigerator. I have a washer and dryer to clean clothes and towels. I have access to hot water and soap. I have long johns and snow pants and knitted hats. I have doctors and health insurance. I have a car to take me to the store and money to buy medicine.

My thoughts wandered to that flu map. The nation may be suffering together, but we don’t suffer the same. Some of us have a home, a bed, and a loved one to ask if they need anything. Some of us do not.

I heard the bedroom door open. My husband appeared, blinking in the kitchen light.

“You sick?”

I nodded my pounding head, feeling like the luckiest person on earth.

Nicole L.V. Mullis is the author of “A Teacher Named Faith.” Contact her at nlvm.columns@gmail.com.